


Do What We Must

by Defira, spiritofemby



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-24
Updated: 2013-01-24
Packaged: 2017-11-26 17:27:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/652688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Defira/pseuds/Defira, https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiritofemby/pseuds/spiritofemby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Side story to my canon Warden-Commander Lenore Aeducan. This takes place from the point of view of Rhian Amell, not the mage candidate for the Wardens for the 5th Blight, but a Warden recruit for the aftermath of the Assault on Amaranthine/Vigil's Keep. This is my first fic, and heavily beta'd by the most incredible Defira.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_"We must do what we must to survive."_

The words echo in her mind, half forgotten memories of another time. A time before she was confined to this infernal tower, this prison. The very words her father, Cairn Amell, had said when he realised Rhian had magic in her blood, the stain on his family, the very magic he had prayed to the Maker would not show its face. It would not do to have a mage in his family, so the templars were called in the dead of night to whisk her away to Kinloch Hold, the Circle Tower of Ferelden. Her own father turned her in to this faceless, nameless horde. The Templars. They were not all so bad, not Jenner, nor Henric, her escorts to the tower. They were kind enough, but Rhian could not shake the sting of betrayal out of her mind.

She tossed and turned uncomfortably, trying to find a place on the ground that didn’t dig into her back. _My father was supposed to protect me, his firstborn! His only daughter, but he threw me away the moment my powers revealed themselves,_ she thought bitterly, squeezing her eyes shut to stem the flow of sudden tears. _Maker damn it all. This is not what one needs to be thinking of before classes. I have to concentrate today! Wait, what was so important today? Think, Rhian! There was something very big happening... what could it be...?_

Sleep seemed reluctant to let her go, and she couldn’t remember if it was an exam, or a class, or a meeting, or... the sound of horses and yelling broke the silence, knocking her out of her fugue and into sleepy confusion.

_Wait just a moment, horses? In the dormitories?_

Sitting bolt upright, Rhian blinked rapidly and looked around, startled. Maker preserve her, she had _completely_ forgotten about the Wardens. No wonder she couldn’t get comfortable - she wasn’t in her lovely bed at all, but on the _ground_. In the _dirt_.

The Wardens had come naught a fortnight ago to the Circle Tower looking for recruits to replenish their numbers in Amaranthine. Irving and Greagoir could really only spare the bare minimum while they rebuilt the tower in the aftermath of the massacre. Too many had died when Uldred had come back from Ostagar, ensnaring and slaughtering the masses; those who had survived were barely holding it together. Despite their low numbers, those who could fight were sent to help the Warden - now the Warden-Commander - fight the Archdemon in the Battle of Denerim. Not enough had made the journey back. Irving still needed his teachers, and many of the able mages left alive were still just apprentices.

That left just Rhian and Sylar Andras, a young elf who was barely harrowed, though a decent mage in his own right.

Scrubbing her face with her hand and smoothing back her hair, Rhian surveyed the site where they had bunkered down for the night. A small clearing a ways off the main road, surrounded by trees and scattered boulders. They were traveling through a place called Writhing - _no, that's not right_ , Wending, _Wending Woods_. It made her anxious and nervous being outside after so long in the tower, so her eyes wandered and settled on her traveling companions instead. Sylar was sitting against a tree scrawling something in one of the book of spells he had brought with him. Donnal, a Templar, was standing watch. Ever vigilant, those Templars. Greagoir refused to let them go without a Templar guide, and Donnal was selected. He was no mage lover, but he was also not the kind to strike down a mage for using magic to defend themselves.

Their other two companions were Wardens - an Antivan elf named Vrezia who stayed cloaked even in the heat of summer and whispered when she spoke, and Roland, a large, burly fellow with a pleasant voice and massive hammer. While Vrezia seemed to be the senior Warden, Roland did most of the talking and lead the way to Vigil's Keep. He seemed to be the one responsible for the noise that had roused her from sleep.

_Roland sure has a way of making sure everyone in the vicinity knows to awaken,_ Rhian thought tiredly, reluctant to get up and feel how sore she was. Sylar was sitting the closest to her, so she tried to catch his attention with a wave of her hand.

"Hey, Sylar? Did Roland say how close we were to the keep?" _Because after all this traveling I feel like I'm forever covered in a layer of dirt and grime. I never would have thought I'd miss the tower, but a bath would be very welcome right now._

She grimaced to herself as she started to shove her bedroll into her pack; Sylar finally looked up from his book to answer, somewhat distracted by the tome. "We'll be there before midday, apparently." He snapped his book shut promptly and grabbed his pack to stow on top of the horse before gracefully climbing onto it’s back.

_I wish I could get on a horse as easily as he does,_ she thought enviously. _Roland always has to lift and set me on Vrezia's saddle. It's so embarrassing; how am I supposed to be a Warden if I can't mount a horse?_ Sighing, Rhian let the giant Warden scoop her up and place her on the back of the horse. She looped her arms around Vrezia to steady herself as they finally made way towards Vigil's Keep.

Sylar wasn’t wrong - as the sun rose higher overhead they spotted the keep in the distance. Now that it was within their sights the rest of the ride progressed very quickly. Thank the Maker for that; Roland had decided to make the journey more entertaining by regaling them with tales of his exploits at some place called _The Pearl_.

"That's disgusting," she said, cringing, "that they allow someone into the order who calls themselves _The Lay Warden._ "

"Ha!" boomed Roland, "she's no Warden, but she sure beds like one. Just keeps going even after I've done passed out."

_I'm going to regret asking this..._ Rhian mentally prepared herself before asking "How is that like a Warden?"

"Well lass, a Warden _never_ stops. Not in battle, not in bed."

Rhian scrunched her face, very confused. "Why did you stop then? Were you not a Warden?"

Roland grinned brightly, "Too much good drink, that one. Don't drink your weight in ale and buy a whore. Lesson learned, you'll never get your moneys worth."

_Too much information_ , she thought, as she closed her eyes and bid that the rest of the ride was in silence. Luckily for her, it was. Not much more than an hour after did they pass through the great gate and then, finally, were they at Vigil's Keep.

_Oh Maker, this is really happening isn’t it?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special thanks to Aedan Cousland for letting me use his amazing song - Rambling Rover - in the story. You will find it here, please listen to it, it is very important that you do. :) http://aedancousland.tumblr.com/post/40353038825  
> Also you will note that Roland will go by two names this chapter, and any further ones. His full name is Roland Pierce, and some Wardens are a little more formal than others. :)

                                      _The Warden’s Vigil, we are here at last._  
  


The Vigil was not what Rhian was expecting - it was less of a castle and more easily a fortress. She knew very little of what to expect of the former home of Arl Howe, only that it was now under the Wardens’ control. What she was least expecting was the reception that they got once inside.

 

Roland first off steered them towards the stables, to relieve them of their packs and horses no doubt. First checking to make sure that his horse was handed off to an attendant, Roland stalked towards her intending to help her down off of her horse. _Finally_ , she thought, _it will be nice to have my feet on the ground once again_. What she was not expecting was for him to lift her off the horse like she weighed nothing more than a ragdoll and swing her about in his arms, laughing.

 

“You need to get some meat on your bones, lass, lest the darkspawn blow you over with their foul breath! Aye, we’ll get you a proper meal yet,” said Roland, a twinkle in his eye, “and maybe some ale, too. Oghren always has a keg about.”

 

Flustered, Rhian stammered her dissent. “Th-that’s not necessary, Roland... I have no desire to drink.”

 

“Nonsense!” he boomed, before swiveling around to clap Sylar on the back - _almost knocking him into the stable wall, however_. “Sylar here will have a pint with me, won’t you boy? It will grow some hair on your chest!”

 

Sylar merely stared as he smoothed out the front of his robes. “Elves don’t grow body hair, Warden Roland.”

 

“Aye, really? I’ve never bedded one myself. Well, lets get to it then. I don’t suppose you’re staying, ser knight?” Roland directed the last towards Donnal, who stood off in the entrance.

 

Donnal simply shook his head no, murmured something about provisions, and steered a fresh horse out of the stables.

 

Roland merely shrugged, grabbed his young mage companions by the shoulders, and steered them towards the entrance to the Keep proper, Vrezia’s soft footsteps padding quietly behind them.

 

Rhian had assumed, wrongly, that the Wardens were stoic and silent, much like the Antivan she traveled with. Who, incidentally, had slipped away from all of the commotion and through a side passage the moment they stepped foot in the door. It was loud, boisterous, and full of song.

 

“Roland!” they heard in a chorus of shouts, “you’re back!”

 

“And with new blood, too!” said a small dwarf who had deftly made her way through the throng of men to the party. “My name is Sigrun, you must be the new recruits the Commander was talking about?”

 

Sylar, surprisingly, extended his hand forward immediately with a greeting; an usually large smile playing about his lips. “Sylar,” he said, with a small gesture towards Rhian, “and this is Rhian.”

 

Rhian smiled tentatively at the dwarf who grinned hugely at her back, just beginning to speak when a voice interrupted them.

 

“Warden Pierce, I did not hear your return. Are these the mages the Commander sent for? Only two?” Rhian’s smile froze on her lips when she spotted the speaker, a tall, dark haired man in warden armour.

 

_Maker, but he’s beautiful_ , thought Rhian. _Oh Maker, no! Don’t think that. He seems very important... wait, did he say Pierce?_

 

“Nathaniel! Er- ah, Warden-Commander Howe. Damn it boy, stop changing your ranks while I’m gone,” said Roland, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly; stopping only to gesture towards the mages standing beside him. “These are the mages, the pretty one is Sylar, and the tall one is Rhian,” he said, winking in her direction.

 

Nathaniel wrinkled his nose slightly as he surveyed the mages before him. Rhian couldn't help but fidget, wondering what it was he saw. Did he see potential? A waste of time? Did he think them too weak, too young?

 

Looking anywhere but the Warden-Commander, Rhian scanned the large room before her. It seemed to be a large hall, full of mostly men; the only woman she saw was the dwarf, Sigrun, who was talking very animatedly to Sylar.

 

_How odd_ , she thought, _but he was always very fond of Dagna while at the Circle Tower_.

 

Stretching her sight further into the room, she saw two distinguished men standing beside what looked to be a throne. The older of the pair - clad in shining, silver armor - was speaking to a much younger man with short reddish-brown hair. He had a medium build and complexion and what looked to be blue tattooing on his face. He also looked _absolutely furious_ , gesturing mildly towards.. _her?_ No, it seemed to be more directed towards the Warden-Commander, _how very strange_ , she thought.

 

She finally tore her eyes away from the pair and glanced at Roland and Warden-Commander Howe, who were giving her an odd look. _Andrastes knickerweasels, I think they were speaking to me!_ She hurried to respond, “My apologies, what did you say?”

 

Roland laughed and smiled genially. “Aye, I was merely trying to tell Nathaniel - Maker damn it all! _Warden-Commander Howe_ , here, what your, ah - specialities are. I don’t know a blasted one!”

 

Rhian glanced at Sylar, who was still chatting very happily to Sigrun, and decided to answer for them both. “Sylar can do amazing things with mana. He can drain it from another mage instantly or cause it to backlash and do large amounts of damage. He’s also very skilled with Telekinesis - he can envelope a target and crush them in seconds. It’s rather terrifying, really.”

 

Nathaniel looked taken aback, while Roland had his mouth slightly agape. Nathaniel recovered first. “Is there anything he can’t do?”

 

Rhian gave a small laugh, “Just about everything else, I’m afraid. He’s awful at primal magics - once I happened upon his class while he was learning flame spells; he got so flustered he set his robes on fire! Wynne, my teacher, told me some stories of his struggles with spirit healing - he will be of no help if you want him as your healer. However, he will make a fine support mage.”

 

The Warden-Commander nodded with a thoughtful look in his eye, rubbing his chin while speaking, “And yourself, what are your talents?”

 

Rhian looked down and picked at a loose thread on her robes, _Maker these are dirty, what color did this use to be?_ she thought momentarily before speaking. “My studies are primarily with healing magics. My teacher was Wynne and I learned what I could from her before and after the Blight. I can also freeze enemies and imbue weapons with cold, but that is the extent of my abilities.”

 

“Very well,” said the Warden-Commander, before gesturing towards a closed door not too far from where they stood. “We will need to do the Joining now, before it gets much later. Come Rhian, Sylar. Pierce, get Varel and tell him we are ready. Sigrun, you may join us.”

 

“Okay!” chirped the dwarf happily. _How was she always so perky_ , thought Rhian, _I thought Wardens were supposed to be serious!_

 

They entered a dim room, lit by a few braziers and candles, oddly cold for the mild weather outside. Sitting off a ways was a large chalice filled to the brim with a strange, dark liquid that made Rhian _very_ nervous.

 

As the older man - _Varel was the name Nathaniel had called to Pierce_ \- followed them in flanked by Roland, Nathaniel strode with a purpose towards the chalice, lifting it.

 

He paused and took a deep breath before speaking.

 

“The reason we can fight Darkspawn so diligently,” he said slowly, “the reason we are so adept in battle with them, _the reason we can defeat the Blight_ is in this chalice. Darkspawn blood. You will take the taint into your body, you will overcome it, and you will stand before us a Grey Warden. Are you ready?”

 

Wide eyed, Rhian responded quietly, “No, but this _is_ what we signed up for, isn’t it?” She chanced a look at Sylar - he was deathly pale in the light cast by the candles. “I am ready to do what needs to be done.”

 

Nathaniel nodded and said simply, “Then allow me to speak a few words that has been said since the first;                   

                                             _Join us brothers and sisters._  
 _Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant._  
 _Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn._  
 _And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten._  
 _And that one day we shall join you._  
  


“Rhian, step forward.”

 

Shaking like a leaf, Rhian took a few tentative steps towards Nathaniel, placing her fingers gently on the chalice in his hands. She looked down into it and winced. _It’s so black_ , she thought with a shudder. _It looks almost like Uldred’s corruption..._

 

Pushing the goblet towards her slowly, Nathaniel spoke a little louder. “The moment you take the corruption into your body you will be a Grey Warden. Now, drink.”

 

Attempting to steady herself, and failing, she lifted the chalice to her lips. _Maker preserve me, it spilled down my arm!_ she thought, slightly alarmed, before finally taking a long draught from the cup. Then all she knew was _pain_ and _darkness_ , spreading everywhere, over her lips, her nose, _her eyes.._

 

Amidst the darkness and screaming silence, she heard it. A voice, a beautiful voice.. _singing? Was it really singing?_

                                                
                                         _Oh there's sober men a-plenty,_  
 _and drunkards barely twenty._  
 _There are men of over ninety that,_  
 _have never yet kissed a girl._  
  


_Where is that coming from?_ she thought. _Oh Maker, am I dead?_ The voice sounded again, this time with laughter barely threading through.

  
       
                                     _And they save and scrape and ponder,_  
 _while the rest go out and squander._  
 _See the world, and rove and wander,_  
 _they are happier on their own._  
  


_It’s so beautiful, I must be dead._ Rhian tried to move her limbs to no avail. _I really am dead. At least the Maker sent this Spirit to ease my passing._

  
  
                                             _If you've been a man of action,_  
 _while you're lying there in traction._  
 _You may gain some satisfaction thinking,_  
 _Maker, at least I tried._  
  


“Maker, she’s alive! Get the Commander, he will want to be here when she wakes!” exclaimed a gruff, unfamiliar voice.

 

_Alive? I’m alive? If I’m alive, then I can open my eyes...._

  
                                         _But give me a Rambling Rover,_  
 _to Orzammar and further._  
 _We will roam the country over,_  
 _and together we'll face the world._  
  
  


Easing her eyes open was difficult, but Rhian managed. _Praise the Maker, I’m alive!_ There was a disgusting, metallic taste in her mouth that coated her tongue and made her feel very ill - she didn’t think she could speak without vomiting up the blood she drank. As luck would have it, she didn’t have to. She was looking right at an ecstatically happy face covered in Dwarven tattoos - Sigrun.

 

“Nathaniel is going to be so pleased! It almost never happens that _both_ recruits survive the Joining!”

 

_Both? That means... Sylar is alive!_ She turned her head just enough to see Sylar propped up and sitting on his own, just barely, being given water by the man in the shining armor. _His must have been the unfamiliar voice I heard._

 

Suddenly there was noise, everyone. Filling the room with shouts and cheers, followed by a slam. Silence. No, there were footsteps. Rhian’s vision swam suddenly, her eyes watering and clenching abruptly. When she could blink away her tears and clear her vision, all she could see was... _Nathaniel._

 

_He looks so relieved_ , she thought, as he knelt down in front of her and Sylar.

 

“Welcome, brother and sister,” he said with a smile. “You are now one of us. A _Grey Warden_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh gosh, another chapter done! Thank you all so much for reading and, well, liking it! That's very overwhelming. :'3  
> You might have noticed I keep finding places to put words or sayings that are from the games - it's on purpose! I love the characters so much I want to honor them, and why not? They're fabulous! Besides, Anders totally taught the young apprentices a few choice sayings while in the tower. :p

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks again to Defira for being my beta and helping me figure out what words were best, structure, and just general knowledge on how to write a story. Thank you.


End file.
